


The Truth in Dreaming

by Rosie_Rues



Category: Robin McKinley - Damar series
Genre: F/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008, recipient:Rhyana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:39:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Rues/pseuds/Rosie_Rues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Damarian geography in this is based on details from The Blue Sword and the short story A Pool in the Desert.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Truth in Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Damarian geography in this is based on details from The Blue Sword and the short story A Pool in the Desert.

A day after Harimad-sol and Mathin left them, Corlath and his Riders came to the ruins of Horontolopar. Once, in the days when Maur's desert had clawed through the very heart of Damar, this had been the Fourth Sandpale, one of eleven fastnesses that had marked the limits of the desert.

The desert had retreated since those long-distant days, and Damar's borders had shifted, but this was still the place where the hills truly began. There was no longer a Watcher guarding the roads across the sand to long-conquered Thaar and Chinilar, and the Pale had fallen to little more than crumbled walls, but the place still had some of the feel of old Damar. Corlath's vision was flushed with gold even as the sun sank below the horizon, and the little crested lizards that scurried across the weathered stones had eyes that seemed to flash gold.

There, with _kelar_ infusing his mind, he dreamt for the first time of Harimad-sol.

In his dream, he climbed up spiral stairs, surrounded by dim, directionless light. At the top of the stairs was a small room, with a pool in its centre, and windows looking out onto the slicing slopes of the hills. They were not his hills, but dryer and darker, with sand spitting on the wind, turning the sky yellow and sullen.

Harimad-sol stood by the window, her hands gripping the sill. As he walked across the room, she turned to face him, with little surprise in her face.

"I do not understand where I am," she said.

"Damar," Corlath said. "Though not the Damar of this age."

She sighed. "This is going to be another of those things nobody explains, isn't it?"

He smiled at that, with a little twinge of compassion. "You are dreaming of a time gone by, when this place was a sanctuary from the wild powers that threatened Damar."

"And why am I dreaming such a thing?" she asked, her tone mild and thoughtful.

He met her gaze. "Only you know the answer to that, sol."

Her eyes dropped, but then she asked, "And why are you here?"

"That is my answer to find."

"And I am effectively put in my place," she murmured, before lifting her face again. "There are things Mathin will not tell me. Matters of _kelar_." She stumbled a little over the word.

"I can answer some of your questions," Corlath offered. "Others need you to find your own answers."

She sighed. "Thank you, I think. I am not sure what to ask first."

"Then sit and think awhile," he advised her. "This was not merely a sanctuary. It was a place where many people sought dreams."

She gave him a puzzled look.

"True dreams," he said again. "The dreams that _kelar_ brings, most often. In days long gone, many of my people dreamt strange visions. Sometimes they were a riddle. Other times they show you a truth about yourself, something you did not understand before. There is always some truth in a dream."

"A vision," she murmured. "Or simply understanding? I could do with both."

#

The next day they moved deeper into the hills, following the old secret way through the caves. The road led to Ynorkgindal, which had once been on Damar's northern border, and even now the caves were full of hollowed out rooms, hidden caches and sudden bends in the path to confound anyone storming through from above.

They climbed slowly through the caves, leading their horses. Every second Rider carried a torch, casting golden light on the jagged stone around them. Water spilled through the caves, following its own route, so that some turns brought them face to face with waterfalls thundering into great chasms. In other places the water whispered sly nonsense inside the walls.

Wind constantly rushed past, swirling out of openings in the rocks far above. Strings of bells hung from every protruding rock, and every gust forced tinkling melodies from them. Corlath remembered his nurse's old stories about how demons could not abide the sound of bells. The whole Border had rung once, and the ringers had been honoured above ordinary men.

But that had been in Damar of old. There were too few left in his country to keep the Border singing, and Thurra was coming.

Corlath lifted his head to watch the reflections of the torches glimmer in falling water, and tried not to dwell on how much of his land's hope for any future lay on one Outlander girl with hair the colour of _kelar_.

#

The people of Ynorkgindal rang a peal to welcome their king, the wild, defiant sound singing out over the huddled roofs of the walled town. Corlath thanked them gravely, and when he slept that night, he could hear bells on the edge of all of his dreams.

It was the second night that he dreamt of Harimad-sol.

She was in the high hills, the land he loved the best, where the grass was yellow and scrubby and the sun blazed low and golden. She was alone in a low hollow, her shadow stretching out towards him. The afternoon sun was so bright that her hair was tinged red as she moved through the practice steps, her grip on her sword more confident with every flowing step.

Then she turned towards him, and for a moment he flinched at the strange presence regarding him through her eyes.

Then her hair was golden again and her eyes clear and she stepped towards him with a smile. "I didn't realise you were there."

"You were busy," he told her, thinking how hard it must be for her to be so powerfully overlooked, even by a kindly power. "How goes the training?"

She gave him a quick, rueful smile, sheathing her sword. "It's not really in my control. But, not badly, I think."

He offered her his arm, with a little courtly bow for his own amusement. She looked at him warily, but then tucked her hand under his arm and let him lead her towards the ridge. "It is not an easy thing to be caught up by _kelar_ in this way," he offered, uncertain how to give her comfort.

She sighed, a little, wistful sound that made him feel even guiltier. "I just wish someone would explain what was happening."

"I could explain," he said slowly, not sure why this of all things distressed her. To live was to confront mysteries and strive to master them. "But it would only be my telling. To truly understand, you must find your own way."

She sighed again, but then said, with forced cheerfulness. "I can hear bells."

"I'm afraid I brought the sound with me," he said. "We sleep tonight in one of the old _gindals_ , the bell-towns."

"You have not yet reached the City, then?" she asked. "And what is a bell-town?"

"We take the long route home, to give warning to as many towns as we can." And then, cautiously, he explained the bells to her, glancing at her face to check he was not boring her. Instead he saw her brow crease in a thoughtful frown, and she nodded quickly as he spoke, absorbing his words. Before he could stop himself, he told her about the secret, resonant road through the caves as well. He wanted to lay out the whole of Damar before her, say, _Here, this is my country. Help me defend her._

"You love the Hills," she said when he finished. There was sadness in her eyes and he reached up to cup her cheek before he could stop himself. Her face was too strong and proud for prettiness, but with wisps of her hair dancing around it in the breeze, she looked soft and vulnerable enough to both worry and charm him.

"Something troubles you," he said.

She shrugged, stepping away from him. "I keep expecting to dream of the Homeland, but I never do."

"Do you miss your home?" he asked, knowing it was his fault if she did. He had stolen her in the night.

"I should do," she said slowly. "I really should, but already I am forgetting what it was like. Our house, where we grew up, and the woods nearby - I remember those, but other places seem less real than the Hills. It feels disloyal, somehow."

"I do not believe any who know you will ever question your loyalty in matters of importance," he said and was surprised by the little flush of colour in her cheeks. He had not meant to make her blush. "I have heard that some Outlanders give their hearts to our country. Perhaps you are simply one of those." He hoped so, hoped it with a fervour that surprised him.

She nodded. "I met a few like that in Istan. It is just rather more disconcerting when it happens to you."

"You could say the same about _kelar_ ," he said, studying her in the sunlight. He was beginning to realise she was more than a weight on his conscience. He liked her, and it grieved him that neither of them were likely to survive Thurra's onslaught. In happier times, he would have been glad to have Harimad-sol as his friend.

#

From Ynorkgindal they turned back towards the City. Two more nights and then they would be home, in plenty of time for the laprun trials. For a moment, as they rode, he let his mind wander, imagining Harimad-sol in the trials: how powerful and graceful she would be by the time they begun; how she would be a golden damalur-sol to inspire his army.

Then he scolded himself and turned his thoughts to that army. He needed to concern himself with more serious matters than that faint, constant awareness of her absence. Most of the army would be at the City by now, though some would be on the road for a few more weeks. There would be others with them, coming to seek the shelter of the city, and he would need to check their stores as soon as he was home. He had set the men and women of the household to work before he left, but he would not be easy until he knew for himself that there was enough food in the City to withhold a long siege.

Just before dusk they came to the village of Shedalith. They were met by the village headman, a frail old man with gracious manners who offered Corlath the use of his own house for the night. Corlath, feeling the chill of the wind against his cheek, accepted the offer of dinner but explained that he preferred to sleep with his Riders.

The village was almost deserted, only women, children and the old left to linger in doorways and stare at the Riders. Their sons, and three of their daughters, the headman explained, had already ridden to the City to join the army.

Corlath looked at the dark houses and the haunted eyes of the mothers of Shedalith, and thought of the fate of that army. The children of Shedalith would not ride home again, and the responsibility for that lay heavy on his shoulders.

#

In his dream that night, he found himself telling Harimad-sol about it, the words pouring out of him. "And it is not even that they will die saving Damar. All we can do is hurt the Northerners enough that they cannot afford to hunt down what is left of my people. It will be generations before we are free again. What am I supposed to say to these people who have sent their children to me?"

"That you are proud," she said, after a moment's consideration. "They know what you have just told me, do they not? Yet they have still chosen to fight. They should be proud."

"I should be able to protect them," he said, pacing from rock to rock. She turned as he moved, tracking him automatically. Even in her dreams now, her sword hung at her side.

"You are ready to die in their protection," she said. "You cannot do more than is humanly possible. At least, not much more."

That little addition lightened his spirits and he came back to her, touching her arm and saying, "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything."

"You listened."

"You don't have anyone you can talk to about these things, do you?" she murmured, and then coloured. "I'm sorry. That is really none of my business."

"I could ride up to the Lake of Dreams and speak to Luthe," he said. "And now, it seems, I can speak to you."

"I would like that," she said, her lashes dropping shyly. "Although you will have to remind me when we meet again. I do not remember much of what I have dreamt in the mornings. I understand that sorgunal can bring true dreams, but it does not help them linger in the memory."

"You know about the sorgunal?"

She nodded. "You must not blame Mathin for telling me. I was quite persistent."

"I am sure that even the greatest of warriors could not stand for long against your persistence, sol."

"You have managed to avoid answering all but the simplest of questions. And my name is Harry."

"Hari," he said, tasting it on his tongue.

#

The next night brought them to the town of Persindal. Corlath found himself staring at it afresh, wondering what Hari would make of its stone walls and courtyards, the filigree cravings around every door and the flocks of squabbling parrots perched along its rooftops. His spirits were lighter today. It was not quite hope, because he had not permitted himself that luxury for months, but it might be the beginning of it. Perhaps he had needed a confidant even more than he had realised.

He saw the Riders exchanging amused glances around him. He wondered what they were saying, whether they thought he had found a woman last night or that his _kelar_ was sending him crazy again? There was a speck of truth in both, he thought, amused, though not in the sense they meant. He would remain inscrutable, just to tease them further.

Persindal was a big enough town to have a barracks of its own, and they slept with a roof over their head that night. Corlath bedded down in the officer's cell, on comfortable piles of cushions that reminded him a little of his bed in the City. He was looking forward to getting home, after so long on the road, even though it would only be for a few brief weeks before he rode away again, for what was likely to be the last time.

With a sigh, he reminded himself to live in the moment, and pulled the blankets up over his shoulders, bedding down in comfort. He was not sure whether he would dream tonight - _kelar_ tended to bring things in threes, and he could have reached his limit.

#

He did dream of her, but he knew at once it was not a true dream. They were in the little mosaic palace in the City, with the sound of water chuckling nearby and blue reflections glimmering in the gold embroidery on the pillows.

Her golden hair spread wildly across the blue cushions. Her hands were clenched around the edge of a tasselled pillow, her grip tightening as he kissed his way up the long line of her thigh. She was breathing hard and fast, biting back moans.

 _Always so controlled_ , he thought, rubbing his cheek against soft skin. Then he decided to find out how long it would take to make her lose that control.

She cried out for the first time when he dipped his tongue into the damp curls between her legs. He hid a smile against the crease of her thigh and dropped his head down again.

By the time he slid up her body, she was whimpering. He pressed a kiss over her heart, and then to each breast, because he prided himself on being a generous man. Then he finally settled comfortably between her spread legs, looking down on her dazed face.

She opened her eyes a little more widely and smiled up at him. He bent to kiss her and thrust forward at the same moment. She gasped, her back arching, and opened to him as if they were longtime lovers.

As he began to rock into her, he thought, _Yes, now I understand. I want this. Always I want this._

Then he lost all coherent thought in a simple rush of joy and warmth and pleasure.

#

He woke still flushed and breathless. The sky through his window was showing the first pale hints of dawn, and he lay still, letting the cool air calm him. Then he thought it through again, as methodically as he could. It was not the first time he had had an unexpected dream of a good friend, so he knew better to act on a trick of the mind.

But when he imagined the arch of her naked arm, the flush of passion in her cheeks, the curve of a breast, his body began to tighten again.

So, it had not been a true dream, not like those of the past three nights, but there had been some truth in it.

He wanted her.

It perturbed him more than he liked. He had come to admire her, both for her courage and her determination to learn more of the Hills. He respected her intelligence and the strength of mind she must have possessed from babyhood to control her kelar so tightly. He could not reconcile those feelings with the pure hunger he had felt in his dream.

Sighing, he rolled out of bed. He would not sleep again before it was time to ride out. Instead, he slipped out of the barracks, waking through the streets of Persindal. There were a few people out already, bakers preparing their goods and street-sweepers cleaning the roads. They acknowledged him with quick bows and shy smiles, and he nodded back.

At the outskirts of the town, he climbed up to stand on the city wall. Dawn was touching the hills, silvery and ghostly. He breathed in the promise of the morning, tasting the breeze off the hills, scented with mountain roses and the sharp scent of nimbing leaf, the citrus tang of the orange groves beyond the walls and a hint of wild tea growing on the rocky slopes beyond.

He was no stranger to pillow passions, but he had always been able to put such affairs aside. There were so many more important matters to concern himself with, and he had never been one to indulge himself. Nonetheless, he did not think it would be easy to put Hari aside. What he felt for her was something different, something he still did not quite understand.

Footsteps behind him startled him, and he turned to see Innath approaching, juggling two hot rolls between his hands. He tossed one to Corlath as soon as he was close enough.

Corlath caught it one-handed, raising an eyebrow in query.

"You are early to wake, sola," Innath said cheerfully. "Yet you went out without breakfast."

"We do not all think first of our stomachs," Corlath said. "I was awake. There seemed little point in trying to sleep again." He bit into the warm bread. It was stuffed with meat and cheese and herbs, a hearty breakfast.

"We'll be in the City by nightfall," Innath remarked, leaning against the wall. "They're saying here that they have never seen so many candidates ride through to the laprun trials."

"It will be a good year," Corlath answered, licking grease off his fingers.

Innath gave him a sly look. "The Riders all believe Harimad-sol will best them all, of course."

Corlath choked a little on his bread. Had any king ever managed to keep a secret from his Riders, even Tor himself? As mildly as he could, he said, "With Mathin for a teacher? No doubt."

Innath looked innocent. "Already she has taken to the saddle like she was born in the Hills, would you not say? And she has learned much of our speech for an Outlander. A truly extraordinary woman."

Corlath refused to rise to it this time. Instead he nodded and just said, "I cannot disagree."

Innath chuckled and ate the rest of his roll without further teasing.

#

Later that day they passed through the great stone gates of the City. The Riders did not quite cheer, but there was a sudden sense of relief, and even a few of their most dignified horses pranced a little.

As he left the shadow of the long gate, Corlath felt his old love of the City rise in him, affection and memory and joy all tangled together with something intangible that made him sit straighter in his saddle and breathe in a little deeper.

That sense of gladness which made his heart beat faster was familiar. Suddenly it slipped into place besides respect and friendship and desire, and he laughed out loud. At last he truly understood why he missed Hari. His dreams had led him to understanding.

He could not tell whether she would ever return his feelings, but he knew she was already beginning to feel some love for the hills. Perhaps one day she would extend that love to him as well.

Until that day, he would allow himself to hope.

  



End file.
